


I don't know ask me later

by Steino



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steino/pseuds/Steino
Summary: O.O hopefully I finish this one I may have just cursed meself





	I don't know ask me later

The first thing after Voldemort’s death, the remaining Death Eaters were rounded up trail in front of what shambles remained of the Wizengamot. Of course, the vast majority of those captured were immediately tossed into Azkaban.  
Only those who had not fought in the actual war were let off, mostly those within the rich and wealthy brackets. It was, however, a rare thing to see a Death Eater close within the Dark Lord’s circle who hadn’t also been pledged to the fight.  
Being in the Wizengamot that day, one could see how all the most famous and powerful old families had, one after another, tumbled to the ground under the weight of the Dark Lord’s failure. The remaining members of these families would all stumble, one by one, brought low by abject humiliation.  
It was only the Malfoys who had the audacity to enter the forum that day with their heads held in a distinguished and unfettered manner.  
The Malfoys had led their dynasty into the ground, as well as so many others. Standing in the pit of the Wizengamot with his remaining family, Draco saw all the power dynamics his father, his grandfather, and all his ancestors had helped to construct with strong, solid foundations crumbling as though built from dust.

Lucius Malfoy had placed all his chips into one bet, and had encouraged his entourage to do the same. Of course they had, and all of them would go down into history as filth, putrid and loathsome and sitting in the lowest circle of damnation for all eternity.

Lucius Malfoy had propped up the Dark Lord’s regime finding himself at the center of the financing and logistics involved with creating this new and horrific cult; something that the Malfoys had never done in all of their long and esteemed history. Normally, the Malfoys were neutral in conflicts between factions, often funding both sides of the conflict in secret until one side demonstrated itself to be the more favorable party.

Looking at the stout but subtly quivering man Draco had longed for the attentions of all his life now that they stood condemned to social death and disparity, Draco finally saw that the true power of the Dark Lord for what seemed like the first time.  
Only before was Voldemort’s power this vague, mysterious darkness thrown onto this high pedestal. For so long Draco had wondered what had made him so compelling to so many powerful people, and the answer seemed so laughably obvious now. Tom Riddle’s power was not in his spells or his cunning or his political maneuvering, it was in the last place anybody would have thought to look – Tom Riddle had seduced his followers.

Bellatrix, Lucius, Pius, Peter, Gaudia, Orlin, George, all of the ones he’d known – they had all been tricked by Tom’s megalomaniacal desire for love and attention. He had been lonely as an orphan, and Dumbledore had apparently discovered the boy and kept him close, attempting to play Tom at his own game by giving him attention and treating him as a surrogate son.  
Nothing Albus had done was of any worth – his plans to subdue the boy he knew might destroy the world had crumbled; and stepping over his corpse to fumble, steal, cheat, lie, and weasel his way to the takedown of the greatest danger to the wizarding world since Grindlewald, was Harry fucking Potter

Draco stared at the man of his thoughts now in the bleachers, mumbling and conferring frantically with Granger and another he didn’t recognize. His was the only group not screaming obscenities at the Malfoys, spitting hatred and damnation on the once lauded arbiters of power within the wizarding world. 

He couldn’t see Harry’s face very well as it was turned downward, scrambling through stacks of infernal files further blocking Draco’s view of his torso. Harry was still wearing exactly what he had from the final battle, still not having noticed the little tear in the back of his pants that exposed the clear and obvious fact that he wasn’t wearing undergarments.  
Nobody else had noticed in the calamity of it all, but Draco had.

So here he was, within the throngs of spite and hypocrisy, pushing down a smile that he knew would only make him more suspicious. After all, who would believe that he was smiling because he knew Harry had defeated the Dark Lord without undies on?

He couldn’t help it when he looked at Harry with hidden fondness. Still, after all these years, Harry looked entirely too silly. Maybe if Draco had not been such a prat in those first couple of years of uncertainty before he and Harry had become complacent in their hatred of one another, he might have been a positive influence on Harry’s wardrobe. 

Maybe if he hadn’t been such a prat, they could have been friends, and maybe, just maybe, he could have found a small fleeting moment in time where he could have kissed that silly looking, snarky, dense, completely idiotic boy and in that one broken moment within space-time, he could have told that boy how he really felt.

He looked up at the ornate roofing of the Wizengamot and longed for a timeturner. Gods, how he would not have hesitated to use it to fix everything, to hex the man standing next to him into oblivion and stand beside Harry and mutually assure the annihilation of the most detestable, sniveling individual to ever walk the face of the Earth.  
Merlin, he could have saved Severus. He could have saved the only man he’d ever truly admired as a father. Draco thought back to all those nights in sixth year when he and Snape had confided in each other about the Dark Lord, and how Snape had held him as he cried. Snape had never outright said anything against the Dark Lord, but he had encouraged actions, which, even if Draco had felt them suspicious and had reported them to the Dark Lord, wouldn’t have been of any consequence.  
Truly, Severus was a genius.  
He remembered the warmth of Snape’s fleeting affection, the slight, almost invisible moments of peace he’d found throughout the war and exactly how many of them had been because of Snape. Thinking back on it now, he could see how Snape had learned from Dumbledore how to see the future in the eyes of children, and how important it was to love and raise children of pain and sorrow.  
He yearned to thank Snape, because even if he would be judged as a war criminal, he knew how Severus had given him the chance to keep tight to his own sanity.

“CALL FOR ORDER – ORDER!” roared Kingsley, who was standing in as Chief Warlock during the post-war proceedings.

Arguers came forth and listed the war crimes of Narcissa, Draco, and then Lucius. Lucius’ individual list was of course by far the longest, so it was left to last. When all the charges had been set out, Kingsley turned to the family and asked off-handedly, more out of procedure than anything, how they pleaded.  
In that moment, not even Lucius could have been insane enough to have said what Harry Potter sprung up to shout.

 

“Not guilty!”

 

Harry stood alone in the room, and you could’ve heard a fairy fluttering in the immense silence. Nobody, I mean nobody in that moment could have possibly anticipated that this would have happened. After a few long moments, Draco could hear Rita Skeeter as well as the other more estimable reporters off to the side scribbling furiously.

“Come again, Mr. Potter?” Kingsley said confused, but in a tone that felt like a warning.

Granger stood up suddenly with a huff, as though dragged into the mess by Harry, and stated. “The Malfoys have a right to choose their Arguers and defend their charges and attempt to minimize their sentences.” Hermione spoke as though gritting the words out from a deep, repressed place. She seemed to struggle with the same notions Harry was so proudly standing for, but she would stand behind her friend.  
Kingsley took a moment, his finger ticking the podium as he looked back and forth between the two of them. After a moment, he sighed and turned to the Malfoys.

“The defendant must choose their own Arguers. Do the Malfoys accept the undertaking of Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger?”

Lucius was silent, confused, but distant, almost as though the whole thing didn’t seem real to him. Draco was far too stunned to say anything, but his mother was a different case. She burst out suddenly and frantically “Yes! Yes we accept.”

“Very well Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger. Do you have testimonies to bring forward in reference to the character or the actions of the Malfoys or evidence to give any plausible doubt to the severity of the Malfoys’ actions?”

Hermione spoke “I call Harry Potter to testify.”

 

After many hours of counsel, the Wizengamot had established a few very important points, the first was evidence from the testimonies of Lucius, Narcissa, myself, and various others regarding the cause of Lucius’ continued advocacy for the Dark Lord.  
Despite Granger and Potter’s lack of knowledge about the great house, they defended on the principle that the modus operandi of the traditional Malfoy house and indeed Lucius himself was, up until the Dark Lord’s return, very much leaning towards neutrality.

The second regarded the fact that there was conclusive evidence that the Dark Lord had, in fact, tortured Lucius and even held him and kept us captive in our home over seemingly non-existent slights to Voldemort’s person. Over the course of many years, Lucius had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse among several other devastating Occulmancy techniques otherwise unknown to the wizarding world. It seemed that for a time, Lucius had been used as the test subject for Voldemort’s experimental techniques.

The very important idea this established was that Lucius had been influenced and in his compromised state of mind, he was unable to make reasonable decisions on his own. With the testimonies of other Death Eaters to back this up, it seemed that the Wizengamot had no choice but to declare Lucius Malfoy mentally ill, which meant that my father would not serve time in Azkaban, but would instead be sent to St. Mungos.

Then, bolstered by her success, Granger came forward with a second point – that the sentence carried out on a patriarch can also be applied to the others within his house under an ancient law. I was shocked at this – seeing as how Granger would most likely never have used such archaic law before, but in this instance, I could see the wisdom in it. The Wizengamot, despite hearing the words of the very saviors of their world in the defense of Malfoys, obviously did not have very much patience for any of it. It was almost as though the whole forum were under a temporary glamour, pacified for only a moment in this, dare I think it, miraculous moment.

“However, Ms. Granger, the law does not stipulate for mental capacities, only matters of property.” An older, craggly man I recognized from his youth piped up from the other side of the stands.

“Yes, sir, however in 1849, the case of Edward Burnthall states that if actions were pursued on the part of the patriarch which should compromise other members of the household, then it is fair to assume-“

“Draco and Narcissa Malfoy were clearly complacent to the conditions of their own loyalty. This is a moot point.” The older man responded.

“Can we assume that Draco and Narcissa were not also tortured by the Dark Lord or put under severe threat of such action?” Hermoine sounded entirely like the political leader she dreamt of being, and in that moment, I wished he could see the look on Weasley’s face. The boy would have probably been made rather aroused by the sight of his destined bride commanding an audience of the most powerful people in the wizarding world. It made Draco smile for a moment, as profound determination and intelligence always did. He found himself in slight awe as he had very few times before, and he quickly gathered his senses to prevent feelings of envy rising up. The room saw an elderly man rise from the stands, stout and assured in stance, glasses practically hanging from his portly nose with thick lips and a bellowing voice that one could almost mistake him for the Animagus of a toad.

“Ms. Granger, with due respect to yours and Mr. Potter’s sacrifices, we are not here to contest the potential sanity and lack thereof of Death Eaters, only to indict them and bring a blessed end to this conflict!”

Then Harry bolted up, shocking Hermione and drawing attentions. 

“With all due respect, Sir, we cannot abandon our sanity for the sake of retribution. Ms. Granger and I stood by for seven years while an entire house faced demonization and prejudice because they were wealthier and more powerful than the rest of us. If this conflict is to truly end, then we must understand why it was allowed to begin! Tom Riddle seduced his housemates into a cult and an ideology that aligned with the traditional beliefs of the Great Houses, and the pressure to conform to conform to what is agreeable to one’s parents is an idea not unfamiliar to many in this room I’m sure.

With all due respect, Sir, tackling the root of this problem means doing away with this prejudice and offering forgiveness instead of revenge.”

I looked around and saw looks of horror and complete disbelief spreading over the faces of every man and woman in the room, as though the treasured Boy-Who-Lived had just pledged to be a Death Eater himself. Kingsley spoke then in a splutter, “Harry, you cannot be serious. After everything they’ve done, to you and your family-“

“I forgive them, Minister.” The growing commotion during Kingsley’s response quieted. “I forgive Tom Riddle for murdering my parents, I forgive Draco Malfoy for aiding in the murder of Albus Dumbledore, I forgive the many Slytherins I knew for joining in the Dark Lord’s schemes and torments. I forgive them because if I don’t, then I doom myself to living in the shadow of their actions forever. They must be given treatment and rehabilitation; they must be given the chance to demonstrate to the world that they are not just victims, but survivors. I would defend them with everything I am sir, because defending them means defending myself.”

The silence then was such a vacuum, the air so cold and still that the Dark Lord might have been there in the room. I don’t know when, but I felt the tears running freely down my face long after they’d started. I heard sniffling and looked over to see my mother crying, and I knew in that moment that we were crying for the same reason. 

I would later write letters to attempt to thank Harry for everything he’d given back to my family and I, but I would throw them all away. How could I possibly deserve to even speak to a man so compassionate and forward thinking? How could I have been so wrong about a single person, and yet so right? That entire stupid fixation in first and second year had been on the instinct that Potter was different from the others, behind that ever-growing scar and those dim, tired eyes, I had somehow sensed, but been unable to grasp the concept, that the person I was not seeing was the Boy-Who-Lived, lauded and special and shimmering, but Harry, the boy who would become the man.

And so we went on standing there, weighed down by our chains for an eternity, no longer suffering the humiliation of our current position but the abject regret that we would never have the words to apologize for having lifted a finger in aggression or spite against Harry Potter.


End file.
